This is new. The other night I was listening to a radio interview, I came in mid-talk so I’m not sure who was being interviewed. The man talking was one of those everything is wonderful, light and magic fill the world optimists. I usually listen with one ear and have my own sarcastic commentary running in my head instead of really paying attention. Something about this guy just drew me in though, and I listened.
Really listened. I absorbed everything he said, processed it. What really struck me though was one thought that I will paraphrase “I just try to go out and be happy, make the world happier one person at a time. We’ll get there.”
Huh. My inner pessimist was screaming bullshit, but I thought of how many times and how many different ways I’d heard that philosophy. Would it work? Can I be like that? I’m not really sure. But right now I have the strangest feeling that I haven’t had in the longest time:
Hope is powerful. Hope can lift me, a little at a time back to the real world. Hope can make me stronger. Hope can make me believe – in myself, in others, in everything.
Hope feels a bit like light, rainbows and unicorns. In fact I think hope probably looks like this:
At least, that’s what it would look like in my head, I’m very sure of that.